


invidious victory

by oxymoron_prone



Series: oxy's FFXV hell [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Like Immediately Post-Canon, POV Ignis Scientia, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 01:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14008830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oxymoron_prone/pseuds/oxymoron_prone
Summary: Upon that throne was the cold corpse of the child the Astrals had sent to die to rectify their mistakes.This wasn't a triumph - it was a tragedy.





	invidious victory

**Author's Note:**

> so im in ffxv hell right now  
> like i got to the end and im actually crying water from my eyes  
> its so fucking upsetting i want to die  
> fuck everything  
> anyway, Iggy pov from the moment Noct kicks it to the First Sunrise.  
> come join me in hell  
> love u  
> -oxy

Ignis knew it when a shockwave knocked him to his knees.

Warmth sank through his clothing to his back and a dull roar filled the air.

The screeching growls and thundering howls of daemons that had sprung from the ground were suddenly gone.

They’d been fighting for - minutes? Hours? Days?

Ignis’s daggers dissolved into the air, even though he’d not dismissed them. He swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. The gravity of it all rocked through him.

He sat there for a beat, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, chest shaking with breath he knew he was drawing but couldn’t feel.

“He-he did it.”

That was Prompto.

“The kid came through.”

There was Gladio.

Ignis mustered the strength to stand, wavering a little when he found his footing. He turned toward the steps of the Citadel and began to move towards them.

“Best not keep His Majesty waiting,” Ignis declared, and heard his companions scramble to follow him.

“Iggy- you know- you know he’s-” Prompto grabbed at Ignis’s arm and tried to stop him.

Unsaid was the truth they both knew, and Ignis grimaced.

“I am aware, Prompto. But I will not leave him alone in that place,” said Ignis.

There was no protest from Gladio or Prompto, so Ignis assumed their agreement.

The journey up to the throne room seemed longer, somehow, than it had before.

Ignis walked and walked and walked, then rode the elevator, and then walked some more.

The throne room was silent save for the _drip, drip, drip_ of what Ignis knew to be blood onto the floor.

“Oh,” Prompto exclaimed quietly. When he spoke next it sounded as if it were from behind one of his hands, “Oh, _Noct_ ... _no…_ ”

Gladio let out a huge, shaking breath and said nothing at all.

Ignis knew what they would see, as he’d seen it in Altissia.

All tales would say it was His Majesty Noctis Lucis Caelum, the Dawn King, the True King, the King of Kings, pinned to the throne by his father’s weapon, dripping blood onto the ruined stone floor, skin pallid and lifeless, hands useless by his sides. The man who had vanquished the Accursed, the Starscourge, his ancestor, and had returned the Light to Eos.

But it was really Ignis’s charge, Noct, so much younger in heart than any of the four of them, who had never had the chance to be a child, let alone be an adult. Noct, skewered where he sat, a teenager with the features of someone much older, who had died alone and afraid as the result of a burdensome destiny Ignis couldn’t protect him from. Noctis, Ignis's friend, sat _dead_ , blue eyes wide and empty.

Upon that throne was the cold corpse of the child the Astrals had sent to die to rectify their mistakes.

Noctis had restored Light to Eos - he had won. Noctis, Ignis, Prompto, and Gladio - they had _all_ _won_.

“Let’s get him down from there,” Gladio began, and started toward the throne. Every footfall was heavy with grief.

“Yeah,” Prompto sniffled loudly and began to follow.

Ignis stayed right where he was.

He could hear the disgusting _pulling_ of King Regis’s sword being freed from his son’s abdomen and he wanted to vomit and cry and fall back onto his knees.

They had won - why did this feel so much like _losing_?

Ignis followed Gladio and Prompto outside. Gladio carried Noctis, and Prompto carried the sword that had felled him. Ignis listened for Prompto’s gasping, sobbing breaths and Gladio’s footsteps for the right way to proceed.

His insides felt cold, but warmth fell onto Ignis’s face when he walked out onto the steps of the Citadel.

It was a startling sensation he’d not felt in many years.

“Prompto,” Ignis began, and he heard his friend’s clothing shift as he turned, “is...the sun rising?”

Prompto sniffled again, “Yeah. Yeah, Iggy. Sun’s coming up.”

A sun Ignis would never see again, at the sacrifice of Noct’s life. The Light had returned, yes, but another had been snuffed out.

He wondered in which universe what had transpired would be considered a victory.

With Prompto's careful guidance, Ignis closed Noctis's eyes against the rising sun. 

Certainly not this one.


End file.
